


The Devil's Husband: Left 4 Dead

by Saintduma



Series: NaNoWriMo: The Devil's Husband [4]
Category: Left 4 Dead, Left 4 Dead 2, Original Work
Genre: Gen, NaNoWriMo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 09:35:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5158883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saintduma/pseuds/Saintduma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is part of a series done for NaNoWriMo. It is not at all edited. The "chapters" are very short, because they're really just bursts of words, not because they're meant to be full-length chapters by any means. This is primarily just so I can organize them.</p><p>Hael falls in with Rochelle and Zoey and does some demolition... and gets into some deep, deep trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Husband: Left 4 Dead

Hael adjusted the kerchief over his face, and looked to his left, to the pale woman in the red jacket. Zoey met his eyes, and nodded, and they both made eye contact with their third surviving friend, Rochelle, who smirked.

“Momma told me not to play with fire, but...” 

Under his kerchief, Hael grinned as Rochelle lit the fuse of the pipe bomb in her hand, hoisted it over her head, and threw. He watched it sail onto the dockside building opposite them, already badly destabilized by the still-burning wreck of a ship that had rammed into it, and beep loudly. The beeping was the key; it attracted a small hoard of infected, who gathered around the pipe bomb, their barely-firing brains telling them there should be something here to kill; but that little hoard was peanuts for what they were trying to do. 

Rochelle and Zoey both covered their faces as the pipe bomb went off, and there was a moment of eerie stillness, before the groaning of the building facade ended with a roar as it began to collapse in a roll. 

A roll away from them. Hael was impressed; he didn’t know anything about explosives, not really, not that he remembered anyway, but Rochelle and Zoey really had a hand for it, and it had only taken a day, venturing carefully out of the last safe room they had found, to plant all of the explosives they’d needed to make this happen. 

The building collapsing was an adrenaline rush, was exciting. He was grinning behind his kerchief, for a moment, his ears ringing. 

The roar that came next, though; that was bone-chilling. That was what took adrenaline into pure survival mode. There were millions of infected in Miami, and every single of them had to have heard the building go down. Normal infected on their own in those kinds of numbers was horrifying; just seeing them start to stream down the streets in such numbers, heading for the collapse, their primal instincts driving them towards the biggest movement in the city to kill whatever had caused it.

To kill them.

But Miami was full of a lot more than normal infected. Miami had a disproportionately large number of the massive, fleshy infected Rochelle and Zoey called Tanks. Rochelle had suggested at one point that it was probably because of a higher number of people on steroids of some kind, but no one knew for sure. If it were true, there was no way to test it, not really; it wasn’t like there were hospitals to take tissue samples to.

That was the second set of roaring, and that one made Hael’s stomach twist. He had seen a Tank take a man in a single one of those meaty hands and squeeze so hard that his organs had come out between the Tank’s fingers; the image had kept him awake for days, through a hellish trek across a huge flat plain in the middle of the U.S. somewhere, where infected could see movement for miles. Maybe it had been better to be awake.


End file.
